Words
by polishedgrey
Summary: Takes place after 15x17. There are always consequences for actions. Amanda Rollins was no exception. Eventually it all catches up to us: actions, misdeeds, mistakes, lies - everything. Eventually the only thing to do is answer for your crimes.


**A/N: I haven't written here in a long time. A really long time. I haven't written at all in quite a while. So, I don't know quite what I think of this. But, I wanted to get out of that lovely rut we call writers' block. Such fun. So, comment, be brutal. I need the inspiration (aka shameless plug for reviews).**

**Just a little piece about Rollins after the event of last week's incredibly stressful episode.**

**[insert witty disclaimer here]**

She looked at them, but didn't speak. She looked at them, and looked away, at the floor. Amanda kept her eyes there as she walked out; she couldn't be there right then. They'd slip out, those words, and words weren't her friend, hadn't been for some time. She wasn't sure she'd ever speak in the same way again. Speaking was part of what got her there; it was something she couldn't be trusted with, one of many things. It was her – her – that got her here. There was no one else to put it on, only her and her words. She spoke, and out came the lies.

"I'm fine."

"Just tired."

"Flu."

"I'll turn it around."

"Just a loan."

"I'll fix this."

"I'm fine."

Those words, words she said again and again, twisted everything she touched. And now, words weren't enough. There was nothing to hope for from mere words. They explained, excused. They lied. Words weren't trusted; she wasn't trusted. Once, maybe, they might have been, just like once, maybe, she might have been. But even if that had been the case, it was no longer. That time had come and gone. Now, she could say anything, everything, and it would mean nothing, less than that. Nothing was her truth. Apologies and explanations could spill out, and all could be true, but none would be heard. Truth or lie, her words were all the same, and none were worth the risk. She couldn't afford their cost, couldn't take that risk anymore; she never could, though that never stopped her before. But that was before. Now, she was nothing, her words even less, and Amanda felt doubt ask what that meant for action.

Habit took her home, and habit unlocked the door. Habit took her inside and re-locked it. Habit drove her through all the motions. It fell short though, her habits. They were mindless actions, meaningless. Her body moved, lungs breathed, heart beat; her mind wandered. It went back, tracing her actions, her choices, all that brought her to this point where she stood alone and lonely. It took her through, step by step, everything that had happened: everything that she had done. It all led back to her. It was her fault. There was no one to blame but herself. It was always her. She'd never found anyone else to blame. Never. There was no one better at dismantling Amanda than herself. So it had always been and always would be.

Amanda wanted better. She wanted more. She wanted to come back from this moment, from every moment. She couldn't keep living in this, and she couldn't return to it. Never again. But that was easier said than done; and she had said it before, done it before, but that was it, she always returned. It was always the same. She'd hit some catalyst that would send her back over the edge. She'd spend countless nights wandering in the dark destroying what was left of herself. She wouldn't spare anything; everything in her path, of which she'd soon be rid. She'd hit what she thought was bottom, and somehow, every time, she'd recover. She'd come back; she'd always made it back. She'd make promise after promise that there would be no more. That had been it; she couldn't do that to herself again. It was inevitable for her though that she would. There had been no exception. That was her.

It was her last chance this time. She wouldn't come back if she slipped again; no one would be there to save her. It wouldn't be like this time where she'd stumbled across a soul willing to risk everything to help a hopeless case. It wouldn't be like this time where she walked away. She got lucky, and it wouldn't happen again. That is all it was: luck. It had nothing to do with her. She had been irrelevant, just happened to be in the right place at the right time in the middle of a wrong situation. The ending she got she couldn't accept any of the credit. It didn't belong to her. Left to her own devices, she'd have never recovered, never gotten out of that dark. It would have consumed her, and slowly she would leave a path of ruin in her wake. She wouldn't have spared anything, not even herself. Of that, Amanda was without a doubt.

This was it. There was nothing after this. It was her only remaining chance, and she had nothing. All semblance of trust had vanished with her most recent spree of destruction. Like any other time, her lies had caught up to her, and like any other time, they became her. She was her lies; they became what defined her, and they no longer had any use. Words had no meaning coming from her; she could no longer rely on words to speak for her. There was nothing to speak for her, only her. She had to speak for herself, clearly, undeniably, and it wasn't words that she'd have to use. She'd have to survive on something else entirely, something equally liberating and damning. Action held all hope for her: hope that this time it would show her to be true rather than the lie that she had so embodied the many times before.


End file.
